To try so much? When he who is their ruler
Forgets himself, will they remember him?
Sar. Myrrha !

Myr.

Frown not upon me: you have smiled Too often on me not to make those frowns

Bitterer to bear than any punishment

Which they may augur.-King, I am your subject!
Master, I am your slave! Man, I have loved you!-
Loved you, I know not by what fatal weakness,
Although a Greek, and born a foe to monarchs-
A slave, and hating fetters-an Ionian,
And, therefore, when I love a stranger, more
Degraded by that passion than by chains!
Still I have loved you. If that love were strong
Enough to overcome all former nature,
Shall it not claim the privilege to save you?

Sar. Save me, my beauty! Thou art very fair, And what I seek of thee is love-not safety. Myr. And without love where dwells security? Sar. I speak of woman's love.

Myr. The very first Of human life must spring from woman's breast, Your first small words are taught you from her lips, Your first tears quench'd by her, and your last sighs Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing, When men have shrunk from the ignoble care Of watching the last hour of him who led them. Sar. My eloquent Ionian! thou speak'st music, The very chorus of the tragic song (1)

(1) [To speak of "the tragic song" as the favourite pastime of Greece, two hundred years before Thespis, is an anachronism. Nor could Myrrha, at so early a period of her country's history, have spoken of their national hatred of kings, or of that which was equally the growth of a later age, — their contempt for " barbarians.” —-- HEBER.]

I have heard thee talk of as the favourite pastime Of thy far father-land. Nay, weep not-calm thee. Myr. I weep not.—But I pray thee, do not speak About my fathers or their land.

Sar.

Thou speakest of them.

Myr.

Yet oft

True-true: constant thought

Will overflow in words unconsciously;

But when another speaks of Greece, it wounds me. Sar. Well, then, how wouldst thou save me, as thou saidst?

The

-the war of brethren.

Myr. By teaching thee to save thyself, and not Thyself alone, but these vast realms, from all of the worst warrage Sar. Why, child, I loathe all war, and warriors; I live in peace and pleasure: what can man Do more?

Myr. Alas! my lord, with common men There needs too oft the show of war to keep The substance of sweet peace; and, for a king, "Tis sometimes better to be fear'd than loved. Sar. And I have never sought but for the last. Myr. And now art neither.

Sar.

Dost thou say so, Myrrha?

Myr. I speak of civic popular love, self-love, Which means that men are kept in awe and law, Yet not oppress'd—at least they must not think so; Or if they think so, deem it necessary,

To ward off worse oppression, their own passions.
A king of feasts, and flowers, and wine, and revel,
And love, and mirth, was never king of glory.
Sar. Glory! what's that?

Myr.
Ask of the gods thy fathers.
Sar. They cannot answer; when the priests
speak for them,

'Tis for some small addition to the temple.

Myr. Look to the annals of thine empire's founders. Sar. They are so blotted o'er with blood, I

cannot.

But what wouldst have? the empire has been founded. I cannot go on multiplying empires.

Myr. Preserve thine own.

Sar.

At least, I will enjoy it.

Come, Myrrha, let us go on to the Euphrates:
The hour invites, the galley is prepared,
And the pavilion, deck'd for our return,
In fit adornment for the evening banquet,
Shall blaze with beauty and with light, until
It seems unto the stars which are above us
Itself an opposite star; and we will sit
Crown'd with fresh flowers like-

Myr.
Sar.

Victims.

No, like sovereigns,

The shepherd king of patriarchal times,

Who knew no brighter gems than summer wreaths, (1) And none but tearless triumphs. Let us on.

Enter PANIA.

Pan. May the king live for ever!

Not an hour

Sar.
Longer than he can love. How my soul hates
This language, which makes life itself a lie,

(1) [MS.-"Who loved no gems so well as those of nature."]

Flattering dust with eternity. (1) Well, Pania!
Be brief.

Pan. I am charged by Salemenes to
Reiterate his prayer unto the king,
That for this day, at least, he will not quit
The palace when the general returns,
He will adduce such reasons as will warrant
His daring, and perhaps obtain the pardon
Of his presumption.

Sar.

What! am I then coop'd?

Already captive? can I not even breathe
The breath of heaven? Tell prince Salemenes,
Were all Assyria raging round the walls
In mutinous myriads, I would still go forth.
Pan. I must obey, and yet―

Myr. Oh, monarch, listen.How many a day and moon thou hast reclined Within these palace walls in silken dalliance, And never shown thee to thy people's longing; Leaving thy subjects' eyes ungratified,

The satraps uncontroll'd, the gods unworshipp'd,
And all things in the anarchy of sloth,
Till all, save evil, slumber'd through the realm!
And wilt thou not now tarry for a day,-
A day which may redeem thee? Wilt thou not
Yield to the few still faithful a few hours,
For them, for thee, for thy past father's race,
And for thy sons' inheritance?

Pan.

'Tis true!

From the deep urgency with which the prince

(1) [MS." Wishing eternity to dust."]

Despatch'd me to your sacred presence, I
Must dare to add my feeble voice to that
Which now has spoken.

Sar.

Myr. For the sake of thy realm!

Sar.

Pan.

No, it must not be.

Away!

For that

Of all thy faithful subjects, who will rally

Round thee and thine.

Sar.

These are mere fantasies;

There is no peril:-'tis a sullen scheme

Of Salemenes, to approve his zeal,

And show himself more necessary to us. [counsel. Myr. By all that's good and glorious take this Sar. Business to-morrow.

Myr.

Ay, or death to-night.

Sar. Why let it come then unexpectedly
'Midst joy and gentleness, and mirth and love;
So let me fall like the pluck'd rose !-far better
Thus than be wither'd.

Myr.

Then thou wilt not yield,

Even for the sake of all that ever stirr'd

A monarch into action, to forego

Sar. That's true, and wer't my kingdom must be

granted.